So Alive
by Cassie Rose Taylor
Summary: "She could still see him, playing the piano, breathing the music the way he breathed air, and she was glad that this would be her last image of him, because she'd lived with him for years but had never seen him looking so alive." When an encounter with a witch leaves no choice but to take away Soul's memories of the DWMA, can Maka leave him behind?
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: Hello there! This is just a little thing I wrote at like two in the morning, so if anything about it is incorrect (especially the way their first meeting went, I wasn't sure about that), please don't hesitate to let me know ^.^ Hope you enjoy! Reviews are encouraged and accepted, but never necessary :)**

The soft sounds of the piano flowed through the room. Sharps and flats, an assortment of notes blended together, twisting in the air, pulsing through the young girl's heart as she followed the music. Her feet were silent as she walked, the tapping of her soles drowned out by the instrument's melody. One hand was bleeding, a small pool of red gathered in the palm of her hand.

_"Soul! Where is he? What's happened? Is he- is he alright? Tell me what's going on!"_

She finally reached the entrance, slowly pushing the door open with her uninjured hand and letting the increased volume wash over her. The song was familiar; it reminded her of home. Soft and sweet, and played with care that can only come from gentle loving hands. Shifting in tempo and dynamics, it was never constant, always changing, forever exchanging one idea for the next... So much like the person who sat on the black bench, pale fingers drifting over the keys.

_"You mean he won't remember me? At all?"_  
_"I'm sorry, Maka. It was the only way."_

She didn't approach him. Just stood in the doorway of the small room, a safe distance away from him. She closed her eyes and leaned against the door frame, letting the notes flow through her, and soothe her recently troubled soul. He looked so comfortable here, instrument at hand, music pouring effortlessly from his nimble fingers. She thought of his hands, always smooth, despite their harsh training, fingertips soft and gentle when he was doing anything other than fighting; how gracefully his hands moved when he was working on something, or even just tapping on his desk. She now looked down at her own hands, calloused and worn and bloody, and wondered if he'd ever truly felt like his pianist's hands belonged in a world of war and bloodshed.

_"He's forgotten... Everything?"_

Dr. Stein had explained it wasn't amnesia. But the witch they had been facing had done Soul's mind so much damage that the only way to save him had been to extract the memories; not just of the witch and what she had done, but everything, including the DWMA, the friends he had made there... And Maka herself.

_"Everything about this place. Including you."_

She allowed herself a single tear before pulling on one of her masks, the ones that had gotten her through so much before, and that would get her through this now. She pasted a small smile on her face, willing her eyes to remain emotionless as she prepared to face the boy who had been like family to her for so long. She braced herself for the pain she knew would come when the boy whom had held her hands and helped heal her heart so many times looked at her with a stranger's gaze. She knew they would still be the same beautiful red they'd always been, but they wouldn't see her the way they once had.

_"You should be happy, Maka. This is a chance for him. He can start over. Don't you want that?"_

Of course she wanted that for him. He could escape the chaos of the life he once led, and return to the music that used to bring him such joy; he could go back to the way his life was before. Watching him now, swaying to the music as his fingers danced, she wondered if she could do the same.

_"Can I see him?"_

She had only wanted to say goodbye. Stein said his family would be coming to pick him up before sunset.

_"He's downstairs. Good luck. I'm sorry, Maka."_

As the song reached its final crescendo, the notes reached the peak of their range, Maka's heart broke, the pieces falling like raindrops, resonating with the final notes of the piece. But she kept her mask on, never letting the straps fall away, intent to not let him see her crack like he done so many times in the past. He struck the final chord, fingers poised over the black and white keys, and she grasped at the courage to speak before the room went silent, and before her bravery deserted her.

"You play beautifully."

She had always thought Soul played the piano better than anyone she had ever met. That had been her first thought when they met all those years ago, when they had become partners, and she thought it only fitting that she begin their ending in the same way.

Without turning around, he shook his head, white hair swaying like he had been moments before, answered in that low voice of his, the one that had always brought her comfort and the feeling of safety. "Thanks. Feels like I haven't played in forever."

He hadn't. Missions and training took up a lot of their time, and between school and friends Soul rarely had time for the music he loved so much. She had always felt badly about that, always in the back of her mind feeling like she had somehow taken away his true passion, but then he'd smile or laugh or eat a soul and she'd forget about the feeling. But she couldn't do that now, not when she once again witnessed how lively the piano made him.

She gave a weak smile, one he couldn't see, and turned her face to the floor, wishing she could sink into it. How had she thought she would be able to say goodbye? Stupid, stupid Maka. This had been a bad plan from the beginning. She should have just left it alone, left _him_ alone, and let him leave without tormenting herself with memories of what he had once been to her.

So wrapped in her thoughts, she didn't realize he had stood until he was standing right in front of her, and by then it was too late to attempt to run. He looked her in the eyes, red meeting hazel, but without the spark of friendship that had always been there. "Did you know you're bleeding?" He asked her simply, pointing down to her hand. She hasn't realized that sometime between arriving at the room and now, she had un-cupped her hand, and blood was slowly dripping down and off her fingertips. She made a move to hide her hands behind her back.

"I know. I was just about to head up to the nurse. Sorry to bother you." She turned to go, pausing only when she felt a cool grip on her injured wrist.

"Nah," he said, shrugging. "I can take care of it." He started gently pulling her towards the piano, giving her a small shark-toothed smile. "Besides. Not very cool to let a lady wander off injured."

The smile almost undid her. Her mask faltered, almost failed, but she managed to get it back in place. Soul had always hated his teeth. He only smiled showing them off with people he cared about, people he knew he could trust not to make fun of them. The fact that he did so now, without knowing who she was, made her heart ache, and her soul reached out for his. She had to fight to keep it back.

He sat back down on the piano bench, pulling her down beside him. In one swift motion, he pulled a handkerchief out of a hidden pocket and swiftly wrapped it around her wound, tying it securely. "There we go. Better?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She knew she must look like an idiot, with this smile constantly on her face, but he didn't truly know her anymore, so it didn't matter. But even as she thought it the idea tasted like a lie. A sudden noise surprised her, and she glanced to see him chuckling. "It's better?" She nodded again, and he sent her a crooked little smile. "Then you wanna tell me why you look like someone just murdered your puppy?"

She frowned at that. Her mask must have fallen without her realizing, and he, of course, had picked up on it. Apparently even not knowing her didn't make him any less able to read her like the books she herself loved. She shook her head once, and then just to make herself clear, said a very soft, "no."

"Come on," he said, pulling the knot he had made around her wound a little tighter. "It's something. Keeping everything inside isn't cool. Tell me what's going on." And then the tears started.

Because she had spoken the same words not an 10 minutes before, to Dr. Stein, and the answer had made her weep with sadness and regret.

Because he had said the same thing 48 hours ago, when she had been moping around the house with a box of tissues because her mothers cat had just died, the one that had been there for most of Maka's childhood. Soul had agreed to allow a new kitten in the house, just for her.

Because he had said the same thing two months ago, when Tsubaki was in the hospital from an accident she didn't want anyone to know about, and Maka had been crying all day but wouldn't tell him why. She couldn't tell him why, but he had talked to her and made her laugh, and made everything better.

Because he said those same words so many times over the years, and he always made he feel better afterwards. But this time she cried because she knew that after this, he never would again.

She didn't sob, or weep freely like she had upstairs. She just let her mask crumble, allowed the tears to fall off her cheeks like raindrops. She didn't look at him, kept her blonde hair as a curtain between them, refused to meet his eyes, but knew he wouldn't let the matter drop. Because whether he knew her or not, he was still the same person, and Soul Eater Evans never allowed a question to be left unanswered. "It's nothing, really," she said softly. "I've just- lost a really good friend of mine recently. Very recently. And, I've just realized how much-" her voice broke, and she cursed herself and her stupid emotions. "I've just realized how much I'm going to miss him. I'm going to miss him so much." She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to stop, wanting this to be over. Wanting the tight ache in her chest to go away, wanted the boy next to her to stop staring at her so intently, like he knew her, because he didn't. Not anymore.

She brought her uninjured hand up, wiped away the stray tears. "Sorry about this. I'm usually much more put together, its just... Everything else seems to be falling apart. So why can't I?" She let out a small chuckle, but the sound was hoarse, weak; it didn't belong in this room with Soul and his beautiful music. She made a move to stand, to leave what was left of her makeshift family behind, but once more his grip on her wrist stopped her. She sighed, twisted her head away, but remained seated. He shifted his hold from her wrist to her hand, not locking their fingers together, but merely letting their palms make contact. Memories played behind Maka's eyes, one of them being sick, or injured, or upset, and their hands were always in this position. The thought made her want to cry (again), but she repressed the urge and simply let him hold her hand.

His voice was soft when he spoke, reminding her of all the times he had comforted her, his melodic voice soothing her, calming her, making her feel sane when the world was engulfed in discord. "It's alright to break down sometimes. Totally cool." She smiled slightly at this. "But you don't always have to do it alone. If you need someone, find someone." She could feel him watching her, and she turned her head to see his unique smile, full-on teeth and everything. Holding out his hand, he declared, "I'm Soul. Need someone?"

Maka smiled at him, but only to hide the fact that her heart was beating wildly, thumping painfully hard in her chest. She could feel in in every part of her body and with every pump of her chest her mind kept repeating the same thing: _not again, not again._This was beginning to get too close to when they first met; his offered hand, along with his partnership, and more importantly, his friendship.

_The sound of the piano had drawn her to the room, where pictures adorned every inch of the walls. The albino's skills were great; he played beautifully. After discovering her, and her desire to be a meister, he had introduced himself._

_"I'm Soul. Need a partner?"_

No. Maka wouldn't drag him back into this. As much as she would miss him, as hard as her soul would try to reach out for his, she refused to suck him back into the whirlwind of madness that had brought them to this dark room in the first place. She loved him, she truly did, as a partner, a friend, and family... But she loved him enough to want more for him than the life of a Death Scythe, a life where he could play his music and never have to worry about the girl bookworm who constantly seemed to throw them both into danger. She just wanted him to be happy.

She shook his hand, more to keep up the appearance than anything else, and she hoped beyond hope that he couldn't feel her heartbeat through her hand. "Maka. And thank you for the offer; that was really cool of you." She offered him a smile, hoping that the slight compliment would make him happy. "But you've done more than enough already." Her grip on his hand tightened fractionally, trying to convey all of her emotions into a gesture as simple as a handshake. She hoped he would understand. "Thank you, really. For everything." She made one last move to stand, and for the third time, was stopped by his hand on her wrist.

He stared at the place where their skin touched, his hand just above where he had tied his handkerchief, a conflicted look on his face. His eyes snapped up to hers, and for a moment, she felt the spark again; her Soul was still there, somewhere. But she hoped for his sake that he stayed hidden, so this new Soul could live a happy life without her. "I'm missing something. Aren't I?"

She gently but firmly tugged her hand out of his grasp and smiled at him, a genuine smile, all masks hidden away for the time being. "No more than anyone else. I hope you have a great day." She finally turned to leave, hearing a soft voice behind her; "See ya later, Maka." She heard the piano start up again, something much softer and sadder than before, still familiar but full of emotions Maka didn't think an instrument could express.

She stopped one final time at the door, looking back at the last few years of her life, sitting content at the shiny piano. He still swayed with the music, his snowy hair shifting as he moved, and his fingers once more dancing across the keys like they were made to do. In his movements she saw flashes of their time together; the way he fidgeted watching television, how he could never stay still in class, and hundreds of others that she had noticed that he probably never even realized he did, that Maka could have spent days listing off. But she couldn't, because her best friend was now a stranger to her, and for the sake of his happiness she could never change that. Her heart once more thumped painfully in her chest, faster now than ever before, and she knew this was the last time she'd ever see him. The realization made her tear up, one final time, but he couldn't see her now so she let them fall. Let her sadness, pain, and regret mix together and fall from her face, and once more everything she'd never told him flashed through her mind.

_I'm sorry I got you into this._

_I love you._

_I'll miss you so much._

Her soul stretched, reaching, trying to grasp the slightest bit of his but she once again held it back, knowing if their souls resonated that she'd never be able to leave him behind. With the music still ringing in her ears, if Maka closed her eyes, she could imagine they were home, and he was letting his CD's play, the ones Black Star teased him about because they were classical. If she really tried, she could pretend she wasn't leaving the biggest part of her here, that everything was fine, that she wasn't moments away from breaking down.

But she was tried of pretending everything was alright when it wasn't. Nothing good ever came of it. So Maka kept her eyes open as the tears fell from them. Kept her eyes open as she watched her very best friend slip through her fingers, the way his were now gracefully sliding across his rediscovered joy. She kept her eyes on him for as long as she could, walking backwards until she was forced to have to turn. She could still see him, playing the piano, breathing the music the way he breathed air, and she was glad that this would be her last image of him, because she'd lived with him for years but had never seen him looking so alive.

"Goodbye, Soul," she whispered, before turning and running up the stairs, away from the music that had stopped, and the boy who was staring after her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: I really did feel bad about breaking up SoMa, so I will be attempting to fix it. This chapter is a lot shorter than the last one, and I apologize for that; its really just kind of a filler for now, showing how Soul is doing. The next chapter will be longer ^.^ Let me know if anything is incorrect :) Enjoy!**

_"Soul!"_

The white haired boy was awake and sitting up in moments, fighter instincts still fully functional despite not knowing where they came from. Soul waited a few seconds, waiting to see if his mother or father would call up the stairs for him again. They did occasionally do this, usually for no reason; always checking up on him, watching him play his piano, calling up the stairs late at night or early in the morning as if to make sure he was still there. He didn't understand why, but he'd sometime find them looking at him with sadness in their eyes, his mother once bursting into tears and rushing from the room when he asked her what was wrong. None of it made sense; that weird doctor, Stein, had said his family would be happy to have him home, so why did they all look like someone had died?

When there was no reply, he concluded that once again, what had woken him from sleep had been a shout of his name from a girl long forgotten, in the midst of his dreams. Soul sighed and flopped back onto his pillow, all hope of sleep now gone as he thought about the images and sounds that had danced around his head in the night. Distorted visions that swam behind his eyelids as soon as they closed, and didn't waiver until his red eyes were once again exposed to light and air. More often than not he saw people, teenagers like him, in various states of happiness and distress, sometimes with weapons in their hands and grim looks on their faces. They were people he knew, obviously, but he couldn't remember for the life of him how. He felt like if he really tried he could break the wall, cross the line that concealed this information from him, but all trying got him was slight headaches and worrying looks from his parents. That doctor had said that this was to be expected, that he'd see flashes if memories and if he dwelled too hard on them, his head would hurt for a bit. Eventually all the memories would come back, he'd said, but it would take a lot of time and effort.

_"Soul!"_

It had been about two weeks since he had left that oddly shaped building, the doctor with the strange scars across his face, and the girl that had cried when he played the piano.

It was the latter that had worried him the most. Her face flashed through his mind more often than not, and he remembered that when he'd seen her cry in that little room a fortnight ago, he'd instantly wanted to hurt whoever had made her that way... Though sometimes he got the distinct feeling it was him. Maybe, for reasons unknown to him, maybe he was the reason that girl had been so sad. The thought made him sick to his stomach, because whether you know them or not, it's never cool to make a girl cry. When he'd watched her run off that day, he'd wanted to follow her, tell her everything was ok.

But he himself didn't know if it was.

_Time for a little music_, he thought to himself, slipping on some old pajama pants and socks, then quietly sneaking down the stairs and into his family's basement music room. Soul settled himself on the cool piano bench, fingers feeling at home when they rested on the smooth keys. He didn't know why he felt like he hadn't played in so long, but when he's sat down at the old piano at that building his fingers felt like they hadn't been stretched properly in a very long time. He'd just finished finger exercises and was playing an old favorite when that girl had come in. He'd known she was there, of course, had seen a tear slip down her face from the corner of his eyes. But he didn't want to interrupt her, so he'd let her be, just standing in the doorframe listening to him play.

_"Soul!"_

"_Damn it_," he whispered, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes and trying to block out the voice that kept ringing in his ears. His fingers moved of their own accord, flitting across the keys like they were made specifically for it. The music drowned out the voice in his head, and he kept playing, losing himself in the melody of a familiar song, a familiar feeling, and a familiar place.

He thought about the girl again. As he played one of the first classical pieces he'd ever learned (Canon in D), he gradually shifted into a different key, a different tempo, and allowed his fingers to improvise as he continued to let his mind be equally torn between music and memories.

The notes that now sounded in his ears were nice; soft and sweet, almost caring, and with an air of calm to them. But at the same time there were unplanned, reckless chords being struck, and normally the two would have clashed but Soul thought they sounded quite pretty together. His hands stayed steady, not shaking like they usually did throughout the day, and he was surprised to find that he didn't falter once as he played, his fingers seeming to anticipate the keys he wanted before he'd even thought them. This was the kind of music he liked; unplanned but beautiful, reckless but also safe, crazy but still alright. _I'd like a friendship like that one day, _he thought to himself, the words come and gone before he could fully grasp them. His fingers finally stuttered, hit a flat note, and stopped, and once again he could hear a voice calling his name. But this time it echoed through the music room instead of his head.

"Soul," his mother said, standing in the doorway with her lavender robe wrapped around her, the same snow white hair her child had running in a braid over her shoulder. "It's 2 in the morning, darling. Why aren't you sleeping?" She came closer, sat next to him, slipped her thin arms around him and he leaned into her. Which normally wouldn't have been very cool, but he couldn't bring himself to care in that moment.

He shrugged, the movement shaking both their bodies slightly. "Couldn't sleep. Had a couple bad dreams, its nothing." He frowned at his mother's silence, as she'd usually be fussing over him at the slightest mention of anything but pleasant dreams. Instead when he looked up at her, her eyes were closed, the faintest hint of tears under her lashes. Thinking about asking her what was wrong, her red eyes slowly opened, and stared into the ones she had passed down to her son.

"It's about your memories, isn't it?" She whispered to him, her voice nothing more than a ghost. "Are you starting to remember?"

Soul shook his head, snowy hair ruffling around him. "Nah, I don't think so. Not yet anyway. It's mostly just flashes of people, nothing super important right now." But he was lying, because somewhere in himself he knew that those people were indeed important, or they wouldn't have been the first ones he started to remember. And his mother knew this.

She tossed her braid over her shoulder, speaking softly to him. "I think... It's good that you're starting to get your memories back," she said. "That was a big part of your life that you're missing now, and I was afraid it would take too long for you to start to miss it." But Her son frowned at this, because his mother had been so happy when she'd brought him back, but now she wanted him to miss his old life? Whatever that was that he was missing, it couldn't have been so important to him that even his mother wanted him to go back to it.

After sitting for a few more minutes, the woman stood, and said, "I think we both should be getting back to bed. Good night, Soul." She began to head to the exit, and the white haired boy called out before he could stop himself.

"I thought... You were glad to have me home?" Then he swore at himself, because he'd hesitated, and that wasn't something cool guys did. But his mother didnt seem to mind.

"It's good to have you home," she said quietly, turning to look at him. "But it would be even better to have you happy." She exited the music room, leaving her son even more confused than he had started out.

_I am happy,_ he thought to himself, once again letting his fingers run over the piano keys but not playing anything. Of course he was happy; he was home with his family, he had his music, he was surrounded by familiar people and things, he was...

Missing something important.

With a sigh he closed the lid over the piano keys, standing up and all at once being struck by how cold the night air was. He slipped out of the music room, wandering slowly through the halls, looking at pictures of himself and his brother when they were younger, family gatherings, that trip to Hawaii that had been awful for his and his mother's pale skin. He reached one near the stairs, him at a piano, pictures covering every inch of the wall behind him. Looking at it now, he could almost feel the instrument under his hands, the soft material of the suit-

_A gloved hand reaching out to meet him, a small smile on the face above, and the greenest eyes he's ever seen-_

The force that the memory hit him made him lean against the railing of the stair for support. That was unexpected. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and finally started up the stairs, taking his time, pausing at the top when he thought he heard voices. But they weren't in his head this time, not in a dream. They were coming from his parent's bedroom. Evidently, his mother didnt follow her own advice. Grinning, he prepared himself to open the door and tell her so, but then he actually heard what was being said. They were talking about him.

"I've talked to Stein," came his mothers musical lilt through the wood of the barrier. "I told him Soul was already starting to remember. He said not to push it, that the memories would come back on their own."

"I don't see why you want them to come back at all," his father replied, followed by a huff that was quite common when his father was agitated. Soul could almost see him standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed over his chest in that defensive way of his. "We've just got him back and you want him to remember so he can leave again?"

His mother sighed. "I don't want him to leave," she said, "but he's miserable, dear, can't you see that?" There was a pause as his mother took several deep breaths. "Victor, you can't tell me you don't see it. When he thinks we're not watching him, when he's playing the piano. He looks so sad." Her voice broke on the last word, and Soul wanted to bust through the door and tell her, "_no really, I'm fine._" He hated when his mother cried. But he figured this was a conversation that, while about him, didnt include him.

"Oh Liv," his father said, and he could hear the soft swoosh of fabric that said his mother had crossed the room and they were holding each other. "Soul will be fine. He's a good, strong boy. He'll remember eventually, and when he does he can decide if he wants to go back or not. Alright, dear?" There was a murmur of agreement, and Soul slipped back to his bedroom, in case either of his parents decided to exit the room at that moment.

He slipped back under the covers, not bothering to remove his socks as he knew he'd just kick them off in the night. He rested his head against the pillows and once again wished that his memories would come back, if only so he could see what the big fuss was about. I_ am happy,_ he thought again, but this time the words didnt sound as truthful. Frustrated, he flipped onto his side, trying to fall back asleep.

I_t was dark. Somebody was calling his name, and it was a nice sound, one that usually made him feel important and needed. But this time it was riddled with confusion and sadness, and it made his chest clench uncomfortably, because whoever the voice belonged to should not sound like that. _

_"Soul!"_

_His head hurt. Really badly. There was an awful ringing sound inside his head, almost like someone was laughing directly into his ears. But he didn't think anything now was even remotely funny, not with his head feeling like it was about to split open and that heartbreaking voice echoing inside his brain..._

_Then suddenly the noise was all gone, the only thing audible was that voice, whispering things and names that didnt make any sense. There were hands on him, far too many hands, and he felt himself being moved, and a cry of pain or loss from the voice. Only one thought was able to permeate his mind then: _they're taking me away from her_. He tried to call out, to move and fight off whoever had a hold on him, but now the pain in his temples was unbearable and it hurt, it hurt so badly-_

Soul sat up with a gasp, hands flying up to his head to try and fight off the pain, only to discover that the pounding against his temples had stopped. He looked around the room, taking in the familiarity of his surroundings, and trying to slow his too-fastly beating heart. In his confused and frightened state, he was only able to think one thing.

If this was how all of his memories were, then he didn't want them back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: So sorry it took so long to update! my iPod sucks :p Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad you all like it :) Enjoy!**

**P.S. No, Maka doesn't know that Soul will get his memory back eventually. It'll be a total surprise to her. Just so you know :)**

It had been a month and a half since Soul had left, and Maka was still miserable.

After she'd run from him that day, she kept running, not anywhere in particular; she just wanted the pace of her feet to match the beat of her heart, the sound of her shoes clapping on the marble floor to drown out the pounding in her ears. The tears in her eyes blinded her slightly, but she knew her way around the school well enough to not get completely lost. She'd run until she was out of breath, and then even farther, because she could still hear the piano in her head, could still hear Soul in her head, and she wanted it to stop.

When she finally physically couldn't go anymore, the stitch in her side threatening to break her in half, Maka collapsed against a wall, not sure was she was but certain she could find her way back. As she listened to the deafening silence in the empty hallway, she'd finally let go of everything she was holding back; the dam broke and the flood of tears came forward, salty and wet against her cheeks. She let her sobs wrack her body, let the harsh sound echo through the space between the walls surrounding her. Her eyes closed and she saw flashes of Soul, of their life together; his shark tooth grin, his determined stare, the fond looks he gave her when she nerded out on him. Her throat hurt from crying, her eyes sore. But as bad as she felt, she knew she'd have felt worse if she had dragged her partner back into this life.

So she wiped away most of her tears and stood, squaring her shoulders and making her way back through the school, following the twists and turns that would lead her back to where she'd last seen Stein. When she finally got there, her eyes were still a bit red and puffy, but the tears no longer flowed; her mask was in place.

Stein, being able to see her soul, would know exactly how much pain she was feeling, but thankfully he said nothing. He offered one last, "I'm sorry, Maka." But the mentioned girl shook her head with a sad smile on her face, a smile that said 'I understand.' She continued past him, just to the window, just in time to see a small black car (with an unmistakable head of white hair in the back seat) pull away. She rested her forehead on the glass for a moment, content to watch Soul leave behind this difficult life they led. When the car went past the schools walls, when she could no longer see it, only then did she close her eyes and try to compose herself as more tears threatened to spill. Her thoughts were broken, however, when a loud cry from the doorway snapped her out of her reverie.

"Maka!" Even after so long, her father's voice still sent jolts of equal parts annoyance and fondness down her spine. She didn't even have time to turn to face him before Spirit was lifting her away from the window, spinning her around, then setting her down and situating her so he could look into her eyes. "You've been crying! Who did this to you? I'll make them pay!" His blade slid out, unbidden, and there were a few quiet muttering a from Stein across the room.

But Maka wasn't in the mood to deal with her crazy father just then. She wanted to go home, to hers and Soul's apartment, and- well, just hers now. "I don't want to talk about it," she said flatly, killing the conversation before it could begin. Her father's face fell, but right now she couldn't be bothered to care. She turned her green eyes on him, simply telling him, "please, I just want to go home right now." After turning down several offers of a ride home from him, she left the school, not noticing that she walked the same path Soul's car had taken. Predictably, because the universe hated her (and because hey! everything else was going wrong today, why not the weather?), it started to rain as soon as she was past the main gates. She walked home, wet, shivering, miserable. She got splashed by several cars and puddles along the way, and more often than not, no apology was called after her. But Maka hardly noticed, so lost in her own thoughts and the sadness that threatened to overwhelm her. When she finally made it home, she shut the door behind her, and proceeded to slump against it. She didn't cry then; no, the tears would come later, when she abandoned the door in favor of Soul's bedroom, curling up on top of the sheets, surrounded by things that reminded her of her partner, her best friend. At that moment though, she just let the door hold her up, because she didn't think she could do it on her own.

That night, when she finally fell asleep on Soul's bed, her dreams were filled with visions of white hair and red eyes, and a low laugh that never failed to bring a smile to her face.

When she woke the next morning, she didn't quite remember what had happened. She nearly had a panic attack when her soul reached for Soul's and found nothing but empty space. She'd sat up in the bed, panicking, before she realized where she was and whose scent was surrounding her. Only then did she cry.

She did fairly well in front of others for a while.

Her friends, thankfully, no longer mentioned Soul around her, although sometimes when she left the room she could hear them whispering. She knew they meant well. The news had shaken them too when they found out, just a few days after the white haired teen had gone. Maka had been fine, really... Until Black*Star had interrupted the light conversation with a loud, "Where's Soul?" The blonde had felt her face harden, and she quickly turned and walked away. Thankfully, Kid (being the headmaster's son) had known what happened, and explained everything as best he could to the group. Patty had cried, and everyone else had stared after the lone meister with so much sympathy in their eyes she had wanted to gag. "Poor Maka," she heard Tsubaki say, but she left the park before she could hear anymore. They all learned not to breach the topic again.

Her father, unfortunately, never learned. When he first found out Soul had left, he'd called Maka up and invited her out to lunch, for a "celebration." When she'd met him at the diner, he exclaimed, "a toast to getting rid of the shark tooth pest!" Maka , to her later dismay, had burst into tears and fled. After learning the whole story, he'd come to his daughter's apartment, with promises to "gather a search team to hunt him down," and "force him to remember my precious little Maka." She knew he meant well, but she could only take so much. She asked him to stop bringing it up. But he could never refrain, so she learned to live with it.

And so, 6 weeks and 3 days later, she was still not doing well.

She had stopped sleeping in Soul's bedroom after 3 weeks, only because she had already gone through most of the things he'd left behind, and because his scent had faded from the sheets and they no longer brought her any comfort. She stayed in her own room again, but rearranged her space so that her bed was now pressed against the wall that separated her room and what used to be Soul's. This way, when things got particularly bad and she couldn't stop crying, she could at least try to pretend that Soul was on the other side. But as active as her imagination was, she couldn't hear his breathing, or the quiet grumbles he made everytime he stubbed his toe on the edge of his bed, despite saying countless times he would move it. The illusion of his company never lasted long.

She felt like a horrible person for missing him as much as she did.

She knew it had been the right thing. Everytime she thought about it (basically all the time), she constantly told herself this. Soul could live a better, less dangerous life this way. She wouldn't be putting him at risk anymore. Never again would a scar mar his alabaster skin because of her (she'd never quite forgiven herself for the long mark across his chest). Maka knew that this was the safest thing for him, to be with his family, not with a partner that could get him killed, a meister that could make him get hurt. He could be happy now. She knew if their roles were reversed, Soul would want the same thing for her.

It didn't make her miss him any less.

Earlier that day Maka had heard Patty make an offhand comment about missing the Scythe, and Liz had swatted her in the head, not-so-subtly pointing to the exit Maka had just passed through. "Imagine how Maka must feel," she heard whispered through the wall. She didnt want them to imagine it. She never wanted anybody to ever feel this hallowness, the feeling that there was something so important missing from you that you couldn't get back. She hated it, the constant ache in her chest, the erratic beating on her heart when she thought about her partner.

The blonde hated a lot of things lately. She hated the witch that had caused this whole mess, because it was because of her that Soul was gone. She hated herself, for wishing he was back where he belonged, for wishing he was by her side again. She even occasionally felt a stab of disdain for Stein, for not being able to do more, not being able to properly fix Soul or find a way to give him his memories back. She absolutely loathed the whispers that followed her down the school hallways; Lord Death had said it was of utmost importance that nobody outside their group of friends knew about Soul. So when she made her way through the school's halls, the rumors about the Scythe's disappearance grew in numbers and ridiculousness.

"I heard he was murdered."

"No no, Soul was the murderer!"

"Idiots, he left because Maka was a terrible meister to him."

The last one, of course, was the closest to the truth. Maka had been a terrible meister; she had put them in danger, made them face an opponent that they couldn't possibly beat, because she had overestimated their abilities, her abilities. She was just as much to blame as the witch they couldn't defeat.

It was now nearing midnight, and Maka found herself sitting outside Soul's bedroom door. This wasn't quite the easiest way to feel close to him now, but she couldn't find the energy to force herself into her own room. She sat wrapped in a thin blanket, leaning against the door, letting soft music play out of Soul's old CD player. The music reminded her of him, which was both a blessing and a curse; she enjoyed these moments when she could remember the good times, but it made her chest ache so badly she just wanted to rip her heart out.

She heard her phone chime in her pocket, and shuffled her position so she could pull it out of her pocket. Her eyebrows raised a bit as she noticed it was her mother texting her.

"I've talked to your father. Don't be so down, Maka. It's hard, but it will get easier."

She knew her mother spoke from experience. Spirit had been her partner, in so many senses of the word, and when he'd left her, Maka remembered her describing the feeling as a part of her being ripped clean away. Her mother had told her that there is no worse feeling in the world than the one soul that is closest to you breaking that sacred bond that meisters share with their weapons; nothing quite hurts as much as having your partner, the one whose soul matches wavelengths so perfectly with yours, decide that your souls didn't belong together anymore. She had said there was no greater pain, but that the it fades with time.

Even so, her mother was still able to be near Spirit. They might not have been weapon and meister anymore, but they had an odd sort of friendship (one that focused mainly around Maka, really), they still talked. Their souls were no longer connected anymore, but that closeness could still be felt.

Maka couldn't do that. Soul was well and truly gone.

Once more, tears welled up in her eyes, and like she had every time before, she cursed herself for not being able to let this awful feeling go away. She hated crying; it was a sign of weakness, of vulnerability, and she hated that with a burning passion. But tears had fallen more often in the past month and a half than the entire rest of the year. It was as if she had lost complete control of her tear ducts in Soul's absence.

She sat there, wrapped in the blanket, lightly rocking back and forth to the absent boy's music as she leaned against his door. The tears didn't stop, but then again, when she was alone when did they ever?

Everything was just so wrong now. Soul was gone, Maka... The light and the fight had just gone out of her. She wouldn't force herself to be happy anymore. She couldn't.

She fell asleep against his door, checking the time on her phone one last time before she lost consciousness.

12:01.

6 weeks and 4 days.


End file.
